


Come What May

by MikiSpazz



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Bohemia, Brothels, M/M, Moulin Rouge!AU, Singing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-16 14:09:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MikiSpazz/pseuds/MikiSpazz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is an aspiring author who finds himself in the heart of the Bohemian revolution and suddenly dragged into what is sure to be the greatest theatrical spectacle of all. He must woo the Gilded Prince of the Moulin Rouge to convince Stryker of the play, but little do they know that the Duke is just as determined to have the Prince for himself, and he's willing to play a dangerous game to win.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Hills Are Alive With the Sound of Music

**Author's Note:**

> The lovely [Ladyfassbender](http://ladyfassbender.tumblr.com/) from tumblr posted a request for a Moulin Rouge AU, and having just watched the movie myself, I could understand the need. So, here it is. I've tended to keep to the dialog, though some of it has to change now that Satine is in fact a man, but I hope you will enjoy it as much as I enjoy writing it.

1899

A year of science, of progress, of art.

A year of passion.

Charles stepped off the train onto the platform, breathing in a deep heady lungful of Parisian air. This city held so much potential, and as he made his way through the station, he knew he would wring every last drop from it. After all, Professor Xavier was not one to waste time.

Professor. He held the title uncomfortably. One needs students to be a true professor. Besides, his expertise was in science, but his heart was in writing. Though it was full to bursting, his briefcase exaggerated its importance. Most of the papers were blank.

To the center of the city, to the pulse of the Bohemian revolution, to the very heart of love itself. That was where he was headed. Where better to find inspiration than there?  
His apartment was worn, but not terrible. His neighbors, boisterous but charming. His view, spectacular. The street below was busy, teeming with people from all walks of life. And up the lane, up the hill, was the Moulin Rouge, where it glittered at night like a temple of diamonds and rubies, a monument to passion.

Charles had just finished setting up his desk and his few belongings when his neighbors started up again. With that singing and the odd sounds he assumed was supposed to be music. Normally he wouldn’t mind, keep to his own business and all. But the lyrics. They were terrible. No feeling. No sensation or inspiration.

No love.

And then the narcoleptic man fell through his roof.

At least the singing had stopped.

"Monsieur, are you all right?” a man dressed as a nun babbled, bursting . His accent was thick, but understandable. Once the dust had cleared, Charles could get a clear look at his unexpected guests.

“I am Jean-Paul Beaubier,” the man introduced himself. He was a tall man with slate grey hair, his steel eyes flashing with a mixture of apology and embarrassment.

“Ah, terribly sorry, but we were rehearsing a play, and Marko here collapsed again. We tried to catching him, but he just doesn’t stop, now.”

“Is he okay?” a voice called down, and the man yelled back up, “No! He’s still out cold.”

“But we need to finalize the lines! We’re presenting them tonight!” a new voice lamented.

“Those? You’re going to present those?” Charles asked nervously, wincing at the memory of the lyrics.

“But of course. It is a play of the century!” the grey man exclaimed, beaming.

“And what is it, exactly?” Charles inquired, unsure of how to tell them gently that their magnificent play was quite possibly the worst thing to ever stumble into his ears.

“It will be nothing if we don’t complete the scene and have it ready for tonight!” the voice from above intervened before the man-nun could respond.

“Marko is still out. Where are we going to find someone to read the role of the sensitive young swiss poet goat herder?”

They all turned to Charles, who moments later found himself dressed in lederhosen and surrounded by the oddest people he had ever seen. And everyone was trying to fit the worst songs possible to the strangest sounds to be passed off as music.

"The hills are incarnate with fantastic symphonies!” Marko leaped off the bed screaming, before falling back into a narcoleptic slumber once more.

Nobody could agree on the words, a rising cacophony of voices pounding against Charles’ ears. He tried to get his two bits in, but no one seemed to want to listen. The words were climbing in his throat, desperate to escape.

“~The hills are aliiiiiiiiiive. With the sound of muuuuuuussiiiiiiiiiiic.~”

Suddenly everyone froze. Jean-Paul turned to face Charles, awe splashed across his face.

“~With songs they have sung, for a thousand yeeeeeeeeaars.~”

The words poured forth, as easy as breathing. This was Bohemia. Charles could feel his mind spreading, seeking out the love and passion of Montmartre. His attempts to keep it under wraps was failing, but he didn’t care.

“We should take him to the financier tonight,” they were whispering amongst each other, not that he heard them with his ears exactly. “He’ll convince the Gilded Prince with his poetry, and then Stryker will have to accept him!”

"We’re going to make Spectacular Spectacular!”

"It will be the play of the century!”

They turned to Charles, cheering as they poured another round of absinthe. That night, Charles found himself in the narcoleptic man’s best suit and tasting his first glass of the green alcohol. It burned and distorted and elevated him. His mind exploded open, taking in everyone around him.

He was on his way to the Moulin Rouge, to meet the Gilded Prince.


	2. Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend

Even from down the lane, the singing could be heard.

Lights poured out from the doors and Charles could feel the pulsing throb of emotions contained within the walls of the Moulin Rouge, a small smile coming to his lips.

“Once we are inside, I will speak to Stryker and arrange your meeting with Erik,” Beaubier murmured as they passed through the first gates, sidling in along with the other gentlemen seeking the pleasures of the night.

“But what am I supposed to do?” Charles asked, concern splashing across his face. Now that they were here, he was suddenly very aware of his lack of a plan.

“Perform your poetry. Make him see the beauty of your words. If you can serenade him, he will convince Stryker that you are the voice of the Bohemian Revolution! The financier will be most pleased, Charles. Everyone will know the magic of your lyrics,” Jean-Paul sighed, as though the very memory of Charles’ singing melted his heart.

By this point they had managed to find themselves on the dance floor. Colors and sounds were blending and blurring with the leftover absinthe effects, before colliding with the thoughts and swells of consciousness that surrounded Charles.

It was dizzying.

Trying to get a grip on what was happening around him, Charles pulled his mind in, straightening his vision and grounding his feet. He was surprised to find a dancer in front of him, spinning around in a rainbow of bright and almost garish color. The music became clearer, and he could pick out the words. Pulsing beats throbbed with his heart, pulling the words out.

He couldn’t help but enjoy himself. Making his way towards the table where the rest of his friends had settled, he could feel the edges of his psyche fraying once more, the atmosphere drawing it out like poison from a wound. There were brighter flecks of minds scattered throughout the crowd, and he couldn’t help but gasp.

“There are mutants here!?” he half asked, half exclaimed. Jean-Paul nodded, and beamed at him over a glass of champagne.

“Of course. The Moulin Rouge is—“

Beaubier was cut off by the booming voice of Stryker himself, the dancers waiting anxiously.

“GENTLEMEN. Welcome to the Moulin Rouge, purveyor of every pleasure and preference!”

The crowd was pulsing once more, the men mingling with the dancers. The Moulin Rouge. Where the rich and powerful cam to play with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld. The stark black suits clashed with the luminous colors flashing around the floor, be it dresses or even powers being flung around.

“And now,” Stryker murmured, a sudden hush falling over the crowd.

“The Can Can.”

The floor cleared instantly. Lines of colorful dancers filled the sudden gap, and the music exploded. Legs flew in the air, and sparks of powers glittered and bedazzled the crowd. Everyone was laughing, and the music was ringing in his ears. He could barely hear what Beaubier was trying to tell him, but he caught the words Erik, tonight, and alone.

Charles’ stomach lurched.

By now the Can Can was over, and the last echoes of the music were disappearing. Everyone was quieting down, and Charles could feel the focus of the room beam upwards intently. The hush before was nothing compared to the absolute dead silence now.

The air began to flash, small specks of glitter raining down towards the upturned faces. But they never reached the ground. Now the air was boiling, a sparkling cloud that contorted and flowed above the dance hall.

“The Gilded Prince,” Beaubier breathed, and Charles couldn’t help but suck in a sharp breath.

He descended through the whirling mass of metal bits, and they coalesced into fluttering cape matched by a shining crown that glimmered as it caught the light. Despite wearing a mask, Charles could make out high cheekbones, a strong jawline, and smoldering green eyes that locked in directly with his.

Gently, carefully, Charles sent out a tendril of thought to try and contact Erik. Something sharp and cold stopped him, and he withdrew quickly, wincing. Beaubier gave him a questioning look, but Charles just waved him off and settled for watching the show.

A woman joined him in the air, suspended by a trapeze and covered in what looked like diamonds. She too locked eyes with Charles, and he realized she was the diamond. Then the cold sharp stabbing thoughts jabbed at him, and he hastily blocked it out. He glared at her, but she had turned away,

Now she and Erik were dancing in midair, his metallic cape swirling around them, and she began to sing.

It went along the lines of girls and diamonds and something, but Charles wasn’t listening. He was captivated by the metalbender and his graceful motions through the air. They slowly descended together, and disappeared in the mass of people below. Charles craned his neck to get a look, disappointed at the sudden vanishing of Erik.

Someone else, too, had their attentions directly on Erik, desire and want bleeding through into Charles’ psyche. Looking around, he couldn’t pinpoint the source, and tried to block it out. But it was strong, and throbbing, increasing in intensity every time Erik came into view.

Finally Charles just had to draw in every strand of thought he had flowing through the crowd for relief, and settled for watching Erik dance and weave his way through the throngs of people. His eyes kept flicking in Charles’ direction, and every time he sent a small flutter through Charles’ stomach.

Beaubier went to leave, but quickly turned back to borrow Charles’ kerchief, waving it haphazardly in his face and blocking his view of the dance floor.

“Pardon me, I need this, excuse moi, terribly sorry,” he babbled, now speaking with someone in the booth behind them. Charles could see the dancing pair again, and once more locked eyes with Erik, who was staring at him.

Now he was making his way through the crowds, slowly but surely. Making his way towards Charles. His eyes never left Charles’.

Charles could feel his heart pounding, the sound of rushing blood in his ears drowning out the sound of the woman’s singing. She seemed to have picked her plaything for the   
night, but Erik still had to choose.

He came closer.

And then he was standing right in front of Charles. He bowed ever so slightly, hand extended, his eyes glinting beneath his silver mask.

“Hello,” he murmured, a coy smile creeping onto his face.

Charles could only stare breathlessly, unsure of what to do or how to respond. Erik turned to the crowd, everyone becoming antsy and noisy.

“I’m afraid it is gentleman’s choice,” he apologized, much to the disappointment of the rest of Moulin Rouge’s patrons, and he faced Charles once more. Without saying a word, he pulled him to the dance floor, and Charles’ heart leaped into his throat.

‘We’re actually dancing, he’s holding me, oh god, he’s so warm,’ Charles’ thoughts babbled in his mind, before he remembered he was here with a job.

“I was h-hoping we could do a p-poetry reading,” he said, his voice straining to be heard over the noisy dancers. Erik cocked his head to the side, confused slightly before regaining his usual smirk.

“Oh, of course. I do love a little poetry after dinner.”

“Is there somewhere a bit more private we can do it?”

Erik’s eyes flashed, and his smirk deepened.

“Of course. Meet me in the elephant after the show.”

Suddenly he disappeared into the crowd, leaving Charles stranded. Making his way back to the table, he grinned wildly at Beaubier. Just as he was about to speak the finale began, and they all turned to eagerly watch the spectacle.

Erik and the woman rose into the air, their voices mingling as the music swelled. Just as they reached the peak, Erik shuddered, his metal cape trembling. And then he was falling in a cascade of silver. The crowd gasped, but right before he hit the ground he disappeared into thin air, only a faint puff of red left behind.

“Eyyyyy!” Stryker cheered, clapping frantically. That must have been the finale. Soon everyone else joined in the applause, and the crowd was pumped again.

“I’m afraid you’ve gone and scared the Queen and her knight away-“ he began, but was interrupted by the sounds of disappointment from the people.

“But I see a lot of lonely dancers out there still!”

The dancing continued once more, and Charles made his way for the exit. He was going to the elephant. He was going to speak his poetry about truth and beauty, and that which he believed in above all else, love.

And they were going to be totally alone.


	3. How Wonderful Life Is....

Charles knocked nervously at the door, unsure of what to expect.

He was not prepared for what answered the door. Erik was changed out of his costume, now only wearing pants and a loosely buttoned shirt. His mask was gone, but that only made his eyes and cheek bones more apparent.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Charles entered the room while Erik lingered behind him to shut the door.

“I’m ready for some poetry,” he growled into Charles’ ear, making him jump. 

“How about a little supper?”

Charles twisted his hat nervously in his hand. “I’d rather just get it over and done with.”

Staring, Erik set down the champagne bucket with a clank. “Oh.”

He lounged onto the bed, sprawled out invitingly. “Why don’t you come down here and get it done with then?”

“I prefer to do it standing up.” Charles clutched at his now crumpling hat awkwardly.

Erik quirked an eyebrow, and made to get up.

“No, please, sit down. It can be quite long, and I want you to be comfortable.”

At this both of Erik’s eyebrows rose, but Charles didn’t notice.

“It’s quite modern, what I do, but I think if you’re open you’ll be quite pleased.”

Erik nonchalantly loosened one of his buttons, revealing more of his skin. Charles looked away suddenly, feeling his face flush instantly. He twirled his hat in his hand, before trying to begin.

“The sky—“ he started, as his eyes drifted back to Erik, who was now splayed on the sheets with yet another button loosened.

“The sky. . . “ Charles struggled to continue his train of thought. Turning, he took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind.

“Is everything all right?” Erik asked, and Charles turned back sheepishly.

“Sometimes, it just takes a little while for, you know. . . inspiration,” he mumbled, and Erik rose off the bed.

“Oh, I see. A little trouble, then? Let me inspire you.”

He knelt at Charles’ feet, before the belt buckle suddenly came undone and flew the belt off. Smirking, Erik looked up into Charles’ eyes.

“Inspired yet?”

Charles could only stammer, before he was pushed back onto the bed. His buttons were undoing themselves, and Erik clambered on top.

“Take me, you want this, don’t you?” Erik growled as he tugged at Charles’ collar, his body heat radiating into Charles.

“A big boy,” he grinned as he tugged on Charles’ pants. “I need your poetry, I need it now!”

“Wait, wait! All right!” Charles yelped, rolling off the bed and away from Erik. Panting, Charles looked out the window, trying to calm down. And then the words started to come.

“It’s a little bit funny. This feeling inside.”

Erik watched Charles pace the carpet, dumbstruck and panting on the bed.

“I’m not one of those who can easily hide. . . . is this okay, is this what you want?” he ended tentatively.

“Oh, poetry. Yes, this is what I want,” Erik stretched out, and as Charles began speaking again he thrashed about on the bed.

“Yes, oh, don’t stop, yes,” he cried, rolling in the blankets with every word Charles said. Charles could only stare, a feeling of both confusion and want mingling in the pit of his stomach. He could win this man over.  
“~My gift is my song. . . .and this one’s for you. . . ~” he sang gently, barely breathing the words into the night. Erik paused, staring up at him from the floor where he lay flushed and breathless.

“~And you can tell everybody, that this is your song. It may be quite simple, but, now that it’s done.~”

Erik watched, enraptured by the words. Charles was staring back at him from the balcony, all his tension and nervousness melting away as he just sang out his heart. 

“~Hope you don’t mind, I hope you don’t mind, that I put down in words…~”

A small smile began to creep onto Charles’ face, driving all other thoughts from Erik’s mind. He never moved his eyes from this strange English poet, and was certain something in the air was changing.

“~How wonderful life is, now you’re in the world.~”

Now Erik had risen slowly off the floor, and was standing next to Charles. The words kept coming, and Charles couldn’t help but grin giddily as he sang. He felt on top of the world, and his thoughts were soaring out into the night.

Every consciousness lit up like a small beacon, dotting the city in a blanket of stars as Charles sang; he felt as though he were flying through the night sky as he sang to this prince, his Prince.

He grabbed Erik’s hands and danced out onto the balcony, singing to the moon.

“~And you can tell everybody, that this is your song.~”

Erik was enthralled, his smirk replaced with a genuine smile. Charles could feel the words slowing, the sudden flash of music leaving, but he sang the last few words with every ounce of his being as he drew in closer to Erik.

“~How wonderful life is now you’re in the wooooooooorld....~” he grinned at Erik.

“I can’t believe it,” the paramour breathed. “I’m in love…I’m in love with a young, handsome, talented duke.”

“Duke?” Charles breathed.

“Not that the title’s important, of course,” Erik smirked, wrapping his hands around Charles’ shoulders.

“I’m not a duke,” Charles whispered back.

“What?”

“I’m a writer.”

Erik backed away a step, and stared hard at Charles.

“A writer?! What, no no-“  
“Well, Beaubier said-“

“Beaubier? No, you’re not another one of Beaubier’s oh-so-talented-charmingly-Bohemian-tragically-impoverished protégés?”

Charles shrugged with a small grin. “Well, you might say that-”

“Oh, Beaubier, I’m going to kill him,” Erik muttered as he headed for the door, Charles frantically chasing after him. 

“But Beaubier said-”

“I need to see the Duke,” Erik growled as he waved at the door to rip it open with his powers.

He slammed it shut the second it opened.

“The Duke!” he nearly shouted, startling Charles.


	4. Spectacular Spectacular

“Duke?”

“Hide!!! Out the back!” Erik hissed, before turning back to the door as it opened once more. Stryker stumbled in just as Charles ducked down behind Erik’s legs in a desperate and painfully stupid attempt to hide from view. 

“Are you decent for the Duke?” Stryker asked airily. “Where were you?”

“I was…waiting,” Erik grinned forcefully as he slowly edged to the champagne cart in an effort to hide Charles better. This man was going to be a nightmare.

“Dearest Duke, allow me to introduce Monsieur Erik.”

A snub nosed man with an ill look about him stood in the doorway, twisting his bowler in his hands. A smirk crossed his face that Charles couldn’t help but shudder at.

“Monsieur, how wonderful of you to take time out of your busy schedule to visit.”

His smirk just grew more crooked and his eyes roved over Erik in a way that his mental projections made Charles reel in his mind faster than he thought possible.

“The pleasure, I fear, will be entirely mine.”

The Duke bent forward to place a kiss on the back of Erik’s hand, who was still tensed up with Charles cowering not two feet away behind the dinner cart.

“I’ll leave you two squirrels to get better acquainted, ta ta,” Stryker called merrily from the door as he left.

“A kiss on the hand may be quite continental,” the Duke murmured in his nasally voice, as Erik regained his composure and smirked at the man, backing away.

He took the Duke’s hat and cane with a provocative jerk and landed on the bed.

“Well, after tonight’s peaty exertions on the stage, you must surely be in need of refreshment,” the Duke grinned as he reached for the champagne bucket on the dinner cart. The cart where Charles was still crouched, heart pounding and eyes wide as he ducked back down to avoid being seen.

“Don’t!” Erik leaped up, a slight panicked tone creeping into his voice, before he caught himself.

“Don’t … you … just …love the view,” he said breathlessly, waving towards the balcony as he tried to cover his small outburst. The Duke stared at him for a moment with raised eyebrows and a confused look crossing his face, glancing out the balcony as well.

“Charming.”

He reached again for the champagne, and Erik did the first thing that came to mind.

Gyrating slightly, Erik sauntered back and forth over the rug while making small sounds.

“I feel like dancing,” he announced, adding in a small spin that caught both the Duke’s and Charles’ attentions. The dancing grew more frantic as Erik strove to keep the Duke’s eyes on him. It took all of Charles’ willpower to not pop out completely so he could watch, or to touch the man’s mind to watch through his eyes. 

But he did peek over the top of the cart.

The Duke watched for a small time, growing more and more confused while making small noises to try and interrupt Erik’s tirade.

“I should like a glass of champagne,” he finally managed to choke out, turning towards the cart once more. Charles ducked back down as Erik immediately stopped dancing and reached out for the bucket but stopped as the Duke’s hand grabbed the bottle. No sense in accidentally ripping off his customer’s hand. Erik also made a noise that sounded like a small shout that he quickly swallowed and covered with words.

“It’s a little bit funny—“

“What is?”

Charles poked his head back up over the cart to stare at Erik questioningly.

“This—”

Charles mouthed the words, not even thinking to use his telepathy at a time like this.

“—feeling inside,” Erik breathed, his eyes wide and on the Duke. 

“I’m not one of those who can easily …hide,” he continued, eyes straying back over to Charles to watch for the lyrics he had just been serenaded with earlier that evening. In his motions, Charles knocked over the candle stick and Erik reached out to catch it with his powers.

The Duke made to turn at the noise while Charles ducked once more, and Erik’s reach propelled him to the Duke’s feet; there he clung to the pants legs of his tuxedo.

“I don’t have much money,” he growled, kneeling to look up into the Duke’s eyes.

“But if I did, oh, I’d buy a big house where we both could live.” He snaked his way up the length of the Duke’s body, touching everywhere and making the Duke quiver slightly. Then Erik grabbed at the Duke’s knees and yanked them apart, much to the Duke’s surprise, and glared at Charles from between.

“Out, the door,” he mouthed wordlessly as he furiously pointed towards the front entrance to his room. Charles glanced back at the door before giving Erik one last look. Then the legs closed, and Charles slowly rose as Erik began singing the last few lines of the song.

“~I hope you don’t mind …I hope you don’t mind… that I put down in words,~” he murmured as he too drifted up, his hands gliding over the Duke’s chest and wrapping around his shoulders.

“~How wonderful life is, now you’re in the world~”

Erik’s eyes flicked over the Duke’s shoulders to meet Charles’ as he sang the last few words, and Charles shivered as he backed away towards the door. The Duke was busy staring at Erik, mouth gaping and eyes shining.

“That is very beautiful,” the Duke breathed, his eyes completely fixed on Erik. The feeling of want washed over Charles again, the same as before in the dance hall. He winced a little, finally making it to the door.

“It’s from Spectacular Spectacular,” Erik whispered, moving his hands up to cradle the Duke’s neck.

“Suddenly with you here I finally understand the true meanings of those words. How wonderful life is now you’re in the world.”

Erik’s voice was barely audible, his words brushing into the Duke’s ear as their jawlines grazed each other. But his eyes watched Charles, who had finally made it to the door and was proceeding to open it gently. His own attentions were fixed on Erik, not on the Duke’s manservant who was standing outside.

“What meaning is that, my dear?” the Duke asked, equally quiet.

Charles shut the door, accidentally slamming it and creating yet another disturbance. Erik threw himself away from the Duke with a cry, landing on the bed as Charles scuttled off to hide once again. He settled for ducking the top half of his head beneath a tapestry and burying himself in a corner.

“Don’t toy with my emotions,” Erik growled, sitting up to stare at the Duke.

“You must know the effect you have on men,” Erik tapered off, his voice growing thick with faked emotion.

“Let’s make love,” the growl grew more fierce as Erik grabbed hold the Duke’s jacket and pulled him down to the bed. The Duke went careening down and landed on top of Erik.

“You want to make love, don’t you?” Erik said throatily as he smashed their lips together, silencing any words the Duke might have said. Glancing up to Charles who had slowly inched his way out of his hiding spot, Erik motioned wildly to head to the balcony.

“I knew you would feel the same way,” he replied to the Duke’s garbled sounds as Erik bucked his hips up and dragged his knee up the inside of the Duke’s legs. Charles paused at the sounds he heard, and turned to glance at the bed.

Erik shot him the sharpest look he could muster, and silently screamed at Charles to get out. Charles could only stare knowingly, as the Duke made increasingly inhuman sounds and Erik’s eyes nearly stabbed him a thousand times over. He sent out the smallest of thoughts, just a hint of a suggestion to Erik, who caught it immediately.

“You’re right, we should wait. Until opening night,” Erik choked out, pushing the Duke away slightly. Charles flashed a small grin before he hurried out the balcony to hide while Erik tried to rid himself of the Duke.

“Wait? Wait?” the Duke stammered, scrambling to balance himself above Erik’s heaving chest.

“There’s a power in you that scares me…you should go,” Erik pushed him off and they both stood precariously, stumbling slightly to the door.

“Go? But I just got here,” he protested.

“Why, we’ll see each other every day during rehearsal. We must wait…we must wait, wait until opening night. Get out,” Erik rambled hoarsely as he lead the Duke to the door and slammed it shut behind him.

Whirling around, he found Charles slinking out from his hiding place on the balcony.

“Do you have any idea…any idea what would have happened if you were found?” Erik hissed through clenched teeth, before losing his breath suddenly and shuddering as he struggled to take in air. Gasping, he fell forward into Charles arms, unconscious.

Charles staggered under the weight of the taller man, unsure of what had happened.

“Oh. Oh no. Erik?” Charles asked fearfully, shaking him a little to try and rouse him.

Erik stayed limp, and Charles glanced around as he adjusted Erik in his arms to move easier. His gaze landed on the bed, and he shuffled over to it, struggling to move Erik’s lean but muscular frame with his own, not so athletic, body. A slight panic was creeping up in the back of his mind, but he pushed it away as he neared the bed.

As he made to set Erik down, the momentum carried them both to the bed, Charles landing atop Erik’s prone frame. He clambered to his knees to check his vitals.

Then the door opened.

“Forgot my hat,” the Duke grinned as he stepped in, before his eyes snapped to Charles. Who was currently straddling Erik. On the bed.

“Foul play?” the Duke asked, startled.

“He, ah, I, uh,” Charles stammered with an explanation as Erik slowly came to and grew aware of the situation.

“Oh, Duke…” he began quietly.

“It’s a little bit funny, this feeling inside.”

Now the Duke was beginning to shake with anger, his face contorting in his rage while it washed over Charles in searing waves he could hardly stand. He shook his head frantically, wanting to clear up the misunderstanding.

“Beautifully spoken, Duke,” Erik chimed in, before motioning to Charles. Who still had not moved from his position. Atop Erik. On the bed.

“Yes, let me introduce you to the writer.”

“The writer?!?”

“Yes.”

Erik shoved Charles to the side as he struggled to sit up.

“Oh yes, we were ..we were rehearsing—”

“HAHAHA,” the Duke cut his explanation off with a disbelieving laugh.

“You expect me to believe, scantily clad in the arms of another man, in the middle of the night, inside an elephant, you were rehearsing?!?” he exclaimed furiously.

“HOW IS THE REHEARSAL GOING?” Beaubier suddenly appeared on the balcony, beaming at everyone while the rest of the group clambered after him.

“Shall we take it from the top, eh, my queen?”

“I hope the piano’s in tune!”

“Sorry! Must be done!”

“Can I offer you a drink?”

The Duke was staring at everyone who was acting in a flurry of motion to appear busy. Erik caught his attention again, waving his hands as he explained. Sort of. A little bit. Not really.

“When I spoke those words to you, before you, you filled me with such inspiration…yes, I realized how much work he had to do before tomorrow, so I called everyone together for an emergency rehearsal.”

He and the Duke stared each other down for a moment, before the Duke cleared his throat.

“If you’re rehearsing, where’s Stryker?”

The door burst open once again that evening, Stryker barreling through as he tried to intervene on what he thought to be a catastrophic meeting.

“My dearest Duke, I’m most terribly sorry—”

“Stryker, you made it! It’s all right, the Duke knows all about the EMERGENCY REHEARSAL.”

Erik’s eyes bore holes into Stryker’s as he tried to convey the charade they had begun.

“Emergency rehearsal?”

“Yes, to incorporate the Duke’s artistic ideas.”

The Duke bowed, still not entirely convinced but Charles nudged him towards accepting their ploy.

“Yes, well, I’m sure Audrey will be willing to delight—”

“Audrey has already left,” Beaubier interrupted Stryker, and was quickly cut off by Erik.

“Well, William, the cat’s out of the bag. Yes, the Duke’s already a big fan of our new writer’s work. That is why he is so keen to invest.” Erik’s smile was so forced Charles feared it would snap his face.

“Invest? INVEST! Invest, yes invest. Well, you can hardly blame me for trying hide…(“Charles,” Beaubier muttered) …Charles away,” Stryker called out excitedly, catching on finally.

“I’m way ahead of you, Stryker,” the Duke drawled.

“My dear Duke, why don’t you and I go up to my office to peruse the paperwork?”

“What’s the story?” he asked suddenly.

“Story?” Stryker asked, confused.

“Well, if I’m to invest I need to know the story.”

“Ah yes. Well the story is about………….Beaubier.”

All the heads in the room swivel to him. He chuckles nervously, trying to figure out what to say.

“The story, it’s uh, it’s about, hah, it’s—”

“It’s about love!” Charles jumps in. He knows where he wants this to go. But how to get there?

“Love?” the Duke asks, unconvinced.

“It’s about love, overcoming all obstacles.” He gave a small smile to Erik, who locked eyes with him.

“And it’s set in Switzerland!” Beaubier exclaimed excitedly.

“Switzerland?” Another tone of discontent.

“Exotic Switzerland!” Stryker tried to push the locale.

“Arabia. ARABIA. IT’S SET IN ARABIA,” Charles nearly screamed to be heard. Everyone looked at him, and he knew he had their attention. His voice dropped to a softer decibel.

“And there’s a prince. The most handsome and kingly prince in all the world.” An even bigger smile started to blossom on Charles’ face as the story poured forth, and Erik listened, his eyes betraying his interest in the personal aspect of their story.

“But his kingdom is invaded by an evil neighboring Shah.”

Charles turns to the Duke as he spits out the words, his eyebrows knitting in a glare.

“Now, in order to save his kingdom, the prince must obey the Shah while the Shah takes him and molds him into the perfect heir, a monster and a lover. But on the night of the agreed upon meeting, he mistakes a penniless wr-“ he glances around for inspiration “-a penniless gypsy dressed like a Shah and he falls in love with him!”

Now Erik is just smirking, waiting to see how Charles will explain that part of their evening together.

“He wasn’t trying to trick the Prince or anything, but he was dressed as a Shah because he was appearing in a performance in the town bazaar—”

“I WILL PLAY THE PENNILESS GYPSY!” Marko called out, rushing forward to grab the Tarot cards Charles had been holding while explaining the gypsy. 

“Yes, well, then, then what happens next?” the Duke asked, starting to become intrigued by this story he had just barely missed earlier in the evening.

“The penniless gypsy and the Prince have to hide their love from the evil Shah—”

“And the gypsy’s talking tarot cards can only reveal the truth!” Cassidy chimes in.

“And I will be the tarot cards,” Beaubier offers, circling the room with his honest observations.

“They give the game away, eh?” the Duke offers for his input.

Everyone seems excited by this proposition, clapping and hopping in glee. Then the can can is mentioned, but before Charles can try and explain it into the story, Stryker shoves him away.

“It’s an erotic spectacular scene the captures the thrusting, violent, vibrant, wild, Bohemian spirit that this whole production embodies, Duke.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean the show will be a magnificent, opulent, tremendous, stupendous, gargantuan bedazzlement, a sensual ravishment, it will beeeeeeee………Spectacular, Spectacular.”

He circled the Duke, a song starting to ripple through the room.

“~No words in the vernacular, can describe this great event, you’ll be dumb with wonderment.~”

The rest of the group suddenly began scrambling around for props to create a makeshift stage, and play, as best they could, the story Charles had woven for them. Sitting in front of the curtain, Charles watches as Marko and Erik play the parts he crafted, but he’s the one who controls their lives.

“~The kingly prince and gypsy man, Are pulled apart by an evil plan. But in the end he hears their song, And their love is just too strooooooong.~”

At this tender moment, Erik and Charles exchange a glance, Charles hoping that Erik can feel what he’s feeling in that instant, that he isn’t the only one whose emotions are a boiling pot of confusion in his stomach.

And then the Duke adds his own contribution.

“~It’s a little bit funny, this feeling inside….~” he sings in a sickly tune with waggling eyebrows.

Charles continues with the story.

“Gypsy man’s future song, Helps them flee the evil one. Though the tyrant rants and rails, it is all to no avail.~”

“I AM THE EVIL SHAH!” Stryker cries, a scarf hastily wrapped about his head like a turban.

“Oh, Stryker, no one could play him like you could!” Erik notes, and Stryker heartily agrees.

“~So delighting—!”

“And in the end, should someone die?” the Duke asks suddenly.

They all look at each other and go in for the finale, singing at the stop of their lungs as they swarm the Duke, lifting his chair and spinning before landing in the final pose.

“Generally, I like it,” the Duke nods, and everyone cheers ecstatically.

Stryker had an investor, and the Bohemians had a show.

There were parties up and down the halls of the building, and try as he might, Charles could not bring himself to type a single word of the play.

All he could think about was his prince.


	5. I Will Always Love You

‘Was he thinking about me?’

Charles could only stare out into the night, towards the glow of the Moulin Rouge as he whispered the lyrics of his song to Erik under his breath.

“How wonderful life is, now you’re in the world,” his voice hummed, the sound tapering off at the end.

Erik sat in front of his mirror staring at the reflection, thinking about the evening and all that had transpired. He was going to be an actor, the play was going to come to life, the writer—

The writer. He stood and turned to look out the window, Charles’ words running circles in his head. ‘It’s about love, about love overcoming all obstacles.’ He moved closer to the window, gazing out over Montemarte and realizing could see into the apartment where Charles was staying. Erik could spy Charles through the windmill that spun ceaselessly outside his home, and watched as Charles busied himself with his typewriter.

They were both noticed in their staring, though at this distance it was hard to tell. But they both averted their gazes, as though they had been guiltily caught. Charles managed to sit long enough to look as though he was working on the play. Erik could only move slowly forward, confused about his own feelings. He sold himself to men, and women, repeatedly without a second thought. Why was he so enraptured by this penniless writer?

“~I…follow …the night,~” he murmured, remembering the music that had filled his room not hours ago.

“~Can’t stand…the light,~” he stood in the heart shaped cut out, watching Charles type away.

“~When will I begin, to live again?~”

Charles paused in his typings, not hearing Erik’s voice. But something in the back of his mind piqued his attention. Something he couldn’t quite grasp but knew was there.

“~One day I’ll fly away,~” Erik’s voice grew in volume, not loud but above the whisper he had been using. Charles looked out over the houses and shops, out towards where he knew Erik was.

“~Leave all this to yesterday.~”

“~What more could your love do for me, when will love be through with me,~” Erik leaned against the metal framework surrounding the window, settling into the strength of the iron as he let his power wind lazily through it. He could see Charles standing near his window, the typewriter abandoned at the desk.

“~Why live life, from dream to dream, and dread the day, when dreaming ends.~”

Charles leaned out, his mind stretching out, seeking the night and lifting him up.

“~And what a wonderful life it is, now you’re in the world,~” his voice called out, hoping it could reach Erik. Charles watched Erik leave the window, and head up to the top of the elephant. Without a second thought, he raced from his apartment, down the stairs and into the cold night air. Erik glanced back at the apartment, but Charles was already gone.

He reached the top, the light wind tugging at his silken shirt. He could feel the elephant beneath him, covered in delicate curling metal. He raised his voice to the stars, and sang as loud as he dared.

“~One day I’ll fly away…Leave all this to yesterday…why live life from dream to dream….~”

Charles gazed up at him from the garden below, admiring the way the wind made Erik’s clothes cling to him and the way the garden lights glowed on his face. He headed for the rope that Beaubier and the others had left from earlier, grateful for their meddling.

“~And dread the day…that dreaming ends,~” Erik lowered his voice, murmuring the last of the words. He didn’t notice Charles scrambling his way up the makeshift rope.

“~One day I’ll fly away……~” Erik breathed as he sat on the step of the elephant’s top porch. Charles was so close. He slipped a little, but caught himself enough to pull up onto the landing.

A small smile played on Charles’ lips, and a feeling of warm happiness flooded his mind. He must have accidentally projected lightly, because Erik’s mind tensed and he stood in a flash, his power suddenly on edge in all the metal of the elephant. He could have torn the structure to pieces instinctually, but Charles held up his hands and apologized profusely.

“Sorry, sorry— I didn’t mean—I saw, I saw your light on and I—I climbed up the—“ he stuttered out, Erik watching him with a mixture of confusion and wariness.

“What?” he asked tentatively, and Charles babbled again.

“I couldn’t sleep and I wanted to thank you for helping me get the job.”

Realization dawned on Erik, and he relaxed his hold slightly on the metal. But it was still there around him, for comfort.

“Oh, yes, of course. Beaubier was right. You’re—you’re very talented,” he gave a small smile, a sigh escaping his mouth. Charles mimicked the smile, looking down at his feet uncertainly.

“It’s going to be a wonderful show,” Erik continued, unsure of what to talk about with this crazy boy.

“Anyway, I’d better go, I—I, well, we both have, a uh, a big day tomorrow.” He gave Charles a more practiced smile, the polite one that was one of his more common smiles. It had no warmth, and Charles reached out as he turned to leave.

“Wait, no please, wait,” he mumble as he followed Erik across the elephant’s back. Erik paused, before inwardly sighing as he turned to face Charles.

“Before, when we were, when well, when you thought I was the Duke, you said…that you loved me. And—and, and I wondered if it was—”

“If it was just an act?”

“Well, yes…”

“Of course,” Erik said simply, trying to ignore the hurt in Charles’ eyes. ‘It’s all professional, part of the job,’ he told himself silently.

“Oh….it just felt real,” Charles murmured, struggling to keep his playful smile up. His hands twisted themselves nervously in front of him, and Erik glanced away momentarily to try to keep his composure.

“Charles, I’m a courtesan. I’m paid to make men believe what they want to believe.”

He smiled, hoping it would lessen the sting. But in Charles’ eyes, he could see it didn’t.

“I see.”

Charles’ voice was rough and quiet, as though he were trying to tamp down his hurt. He gave a Erik a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Silly of me, to think that you could fall in love with someone like me.”

Erik smiled back, knowing all of this was a lie. But he had made a career of lying, it wasn’t hard for him any more to fall into character. So he surprised himself when the character he chose was himself.

“I can’t fall in love with anyone,” he joked, though there was truth to it. Charles simply looked dumbfounded, all the pain that Erik had just caused him swept away by incredulity. 

“Can’t fall in love?” he echoed, looking around for the words to describe his disbelief.

“A life without love? But that’s terrible—”

“No, being on the street, that’s terrible,” Erik interrupted. He was surprised by Charles’ devotion to love, to the ideals of it. Erik was too practical, too knowledgeable in how the world worked, to believe in such things, surely Charles was smart enough to see the truth of the matter.

“No! Love is like oxygen!”

“What?”

“Love is a many splendid thing, love lifts us up where we belong,” he carried on, his speech interspersed with Erik’s huffs of disapproval.

“All you need is love!”

“Please, don’t start that again.”

“~All you need is love,~” Charles began, inching closer with a smile on his face.

“A man has got to eat,” Erik tried to cut this off.

“~All you need is love,~” Charles continued, the smile on his face getting wider and wider.

“Or he’ll end up on the streets,” Erik tried, exasperated with this lovesick fool.

“~All you need is loooooove,~” Charles voice cracked a little as he aimed too high, and Erik just rolled his eyes.

“Love is just a game.” Erik made to walk away but Charles danced around him, a bright smile playing on his face.

“~I was made for loving you, baby, you were made for loving me.~”

“The only way of loving me, baby, is to pay a lovely fee.”

Erik almost left, but then Charles began to pour pleadingly into the song. But he smiled, and Erik couldn’t help but smile back, laughing at these antics. Poor boy was lovesick, but surely he’d get better after a decent night’s sleep.

“~Just one night, give me just one night.~”

“There’s no way, cause you can’t pay.”

“~In the name of love, one night in the name of love.~” Charles voice dropped deeper, and Erik could feel himself starting to get exhausted with the man.

“You crazy fool, I won’t give in to you.” He turned on his heel and made his way towards the stairs.

“Don’t.” Charles reached out, his voice pleading to Erik. Erik felt something wash over him, a silent urging of hope that tugged at him.

“Leave me this way. ~I can’t survive, without your sweet love. Oh darling, don’t leave me this way…~”

Erik turned, trying to fight off the emotions he could feel welling up inside. He thought of all the years he had ached for this, for someone who wasn’t interested in what he could offer, someone willing to look past his price and see his worth. Biting his lip, he shoved those memories aside. There was no place for dreams like that in a brothel. 

“~You’d think the people would’ve had enough... of silly love songs.~”

“~I look around me and I see…it isn’t so, heh, oh no.~” Charles joined him at the railing of the elephant, looking out into the city lights. He was still smiling, and Erik could feel it becoming contagious in the air, felt the corners of his mouth quirk up. Charles inched closer, stepping up so as to be eye level with Erik.

“~Some people want to fill the world with…silly love songs.~”

Now there was but a breath between them, Charles feeling the heat in his cheeks as he gathered the courage to give one last push for love.

“Well what’s wrong with that? I’d like to know…” he leaned in, whispering hoarsely under his breath as his lips reached for Erik’s. There was a moment when Erik lost himself, was ready to fall wholeheartedly into the kiss with no fear, but reason caught up with him. He flinched, backed away and turned in fear. This boy made it so easy to forget his role, to forget all the hard lessons he had learned over the years. Charles felt hurt, but simply forged onward.

“~Cause here I go agaaaaaain,~” his voice rose, as he bounded out onto the elephant head to motion over the city. He nearly lost his balance, but he felt something tug him back into place, as though there were strings attached to his buttons. Charles simply took it in stride, too caught up in his song to Erik.

“~Love lifts us up where we belong! Where eagles fly…on a mountain high.~”

Once Erik released his hold on Charles’ buttons, he breathed a faint sigh of relief. The boy was going to kill himself with this foolhardy obsession of his. Every sway Charles rocked made Erik tense up and reach for the metal again, but all he could do was shake his head at him.

“~Love makes us act like we are fools,~” Erik growled as he grabbed at Charles’ sleeve to pull him back down to level ground. The momentum brought them intimately close, and Erik could feel the ecstasy pouring off Charles now. He was radiating it everywhere, whether he knew it or not, and Erik was certain that to some telepaths this writer was glowing. He hoped Emma wasn’t watching.

“~Throw our lives away, for one happy day?~” Erik threw his arms up, tired of this idea. He had to leave, and soon, or he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to last another flood of Charles’ passion. Desperate, he made his way to the staircase, hoping to discourage Charles and the boy would leave him alone.

“~We could be heroes,~” Charles belted out, chasing after Erik down the stairs. He paused at the top when Erik turned to face him.

“Just for one night.”

“You…you will be mean,” Erik threw out, grasping at straws. But he knew, somehow, that Charles was incapable of that. Charles was good and pure, and that was what had caught Erik off guard. He had never met anyone so happy with life, and to be honest it frightened him a little.

“No, I won’t,” Charles chuckled, seeing right through Erik’s attempts to dissuade him.

“And I…I’ll drink all the time,” Erik countered. If he couldn’t convince himself that he didn’t love Charles, maybe he could make Charles not love him. They were slowly descending the staircase, but at the landing Erik made a beeline for his bedroom from the patio.

“~We should be lovers,~” Charles grinned as he leaned against a pillar in the doorway. Erik paused, and spared a glance over his shoulder.

“We can’t do that,” he murmured quietly. Reality was smashing into his mind. A million reasons were springing forth as to why this was a bad idea. The Duke was one of them, but Erik didn’t want to think about that right now.

“~We should be lovers, and that’s a fact,~” Charles was starting to run out of steam, his voice becoming breathy and his chest heaving rhythmically. Erik turned fully to stare at him, appraising him in the moonlight of the doorway. There was a chance. Slim, minute, but a chance. He had taken big risks, and this was the biggest of them all. But he was going to take it.

“~Though nothing…will keep us together…~”

“~We could steal time, just for one day,~” Charles smiled, catching a second wind as he realized Erik was giving in. He had felt it before, the tentative misgivings, but now all Charles could sense a blossoming warmth in Erik, something making way for this love.

“~We could be heroes, forever and ever,~” Erik sang, repeating what Charles had sung earlier, while Charles wound his voice through the lyrics. Pleased at how their voices practically vibrated together in the night, bouncing off each other, Erik sang louder while Charles reached out to close the gap between them. He laid a gentle hand on Erik’s hip, tilting his head up to keep his eyes locked with Erik’s.

“~Just because I …will always love you,~” Charles beamed, projecting out to the heavens, blanketing the bohemian village and the streets beyond in his happiness. France would be having sweet dreams tonight. Erik smiled as he bathed in the glow of it, and then he said something he had always feared.

“~I…can’t help loving…you.~”

“~How wonderful life is, now you’re in the world,~” they dropped to just above a whisper, and Erik gave Charles a small, genuine smile.

“You’re going to be bad for business, I can tell.”

Charles responded by leaning up on his toes to press his lips to Erik’s, smiling into the kiss when he felt Erik responding happily. Little sparks were running through his mind, and Erik could feel them going off in Charles, explosions of starlight and fire crackling behind those electric eyes that had caught him even from across the dance floor.


	6. One Day I'll Fly Away

Charles’ hands trailed up tentatively along the long lean line of Erik’s frame. His fingertips brushed faintly over skin, before tracing the jawline back to Erik’s hair, winding into it to pull Erik closer. He could feel Erik wrapping his arms tight around Charles, feel the tension in his arms and the warmth radiating from his chest.

Erik just wanted Charles close, closer than intimacy could ever offer. Charles’ telepathy was slowly, timidly winding itself around Erik’s mind, searching, enveloping him. It was comforting and terrifying at the same time. He stood at the openness of Charles’ mind, and he was giddy at the depths of the chasms that were Charles’ thoughts. 

Charles threatened to swallow him whole, and Erik shivered at the prospect of losing himself.

He snapped back to himself, disconcerted by the sudden clarity of the moment. He was still locked in a kiss with Charles, still crushing him close. In a single motion he swept Charles up into his arms, who gave a small noise of surprise before throwing his arms around Erik’s neck to steady himself. It was but two long steps to the bed before Erik set him down gently, refusing to let go.

His craving for touch seemed to wash over Charles.

With Erik beside him, Charles rolled to his side and pressed his forehead to Erik’s. He didn’t even need to stare to be sure he wasn’t dreaming; the slow but deep breaths brushing his nose, the warmth under his fingers as he curled them into Erik’s shirt to pull him closer, the gentle thumping of Erik’s heartbeat. The thoughts echoing out from Erik’s mind. There were layers to him that Charles had never seen or felt before, and he wanted to unravel them one at a time.

They were a mess of tangled limbs, Erik trying to press every inch he could manage against Charles.

There was a touch of desperation to his clinging, as though he couldn’t believe Charles was real either. The way his fingers tightened in Charles’ hair, his legs twining themselves between Charles’. With a gentle nudge Charles adjusted his arms to pull Erik closer, to spend the rest of the night in each other’s arms and just reveling in their existence.

How wonderful life was now Erik was in the world.

\---

The Duke sat in Stryker’s office, offering up piles of paper that constituted the contract that was about to make the Moulin Rouge into the grandiose theatre the Bohemians were envisioning for their play.

“Conversion of the Moulin Rouge into a theatre will cost a fantastic sum of money, Stryker.”

His eyes dropped to his lap, and though he tried to keep his clipped business tone, his voice grew hurried and anxious, stutters interspersed.

“So in return I would require a contract that, um, uh, b-binds Erik to me exclusively.”

Stryker smiled at him, ready to agree when the Duke interrupted him with an additional clause.

“Naturally I should require some security, I should require the deeds to the Moulin Rouge.”

Suddenly another piece of paper appeared on the desk, startling Stryker. He stared wide eyed at it, reading the lines carefully and trying to see just how tightly the Duke was gripping him and the Moulin Rouge.

“My dear Duke,” he began with a simpering tone, but the Duke cut him off angrily.

“Don’t think I’m naïve, Stryker,” he sneered, “I shall hold the deeds to the Moulin Rouge. And if there are any shenanigans, my manservant Janos—”

A tall, silent man appeared from the shadows behind the Duke, the curtains billowing ominously as he stepped into the light. The glare he gave Stryker sent the blood rushing from his face, and he bit back the comment he was going to interject with.

“—will deal with it in the only language you underworld show folk understand. Erik will be mine. It’s not that I’m a jealous man….”

The Duke’s hands were twiddling with the hat in his lap, rubbing it before he tightly clenched into his balled fists.

“I just don’t like other people touching my things!” his voice rattled out, raised in volume and his face shaking from the fury he pent up within. Stryker could have sworn the hat started smoking, but he didn’t dare break eye contact with the Duke.

“I…understand completely,” he said neutrally, unnerved by the smile the Duke gave him once he had composed himself. With that, he uncapped the nearest pen and scrawled his name across the line at the bottom of the page, sealing the contract and trapping everyone within the confines of its words.

“Good,” the Duke murmured, still smiling his unsettling smile.

“We have an understanding. It appears you have the means to transform your beloved Moulin Rouge into a theatre.”

He stood to go, the rumpled hat still faintly smoldering in his hands. Before leaving, he turned to give Stryker a menacing look.

“I shall woo Erik over supper. Tonight.”

With a final nod, he swept out of the office, Janos on his heels. Stryker sat at the desk, wondering just what they had all gotten themselves into.

\---

The entire crew of the Moulin Rouge found themselves sitting on chairs in the great dance hall, everything draped with sheets and Stryker outlining the vision for the theatre conversion. He stood on the balcony overhead, motioning and gesturing as he spoke.

“We will have created the world’s first completely modern, entirely electric, totally Bohemian, all singing, all dancing, stage spectacular!” he boomed out, the empty hall echoing every word. 

But suddenly the hall echoed with the crashing of a demolition ball rudely interrupting Stryker’s proposal, covering him with dust while the audience below scattered with a few small screams. The ball hung limply in the gaping hold it had created, as though it were apologetic about its rude arrival.

“The show must go on!” Stryker shouted, surrounded by a slowly dissipating cloud of construction dust, though most of it looked as though it had already settled onto his coat and face.

Yes, the show will go on. But Erik will not be at that supper you’ve planned for tonight, Charles thought happily, knowing he could pull Erik away at a whim due to his position as the musical’s writer.

Or the next night’s supper.

Charles ran around the apartment, a blanket thrown about him like a shawl while he mimed out the latest scene he had written. Beaubier watched from the small stove, enraptured by the performance. Erik simply watched, a small smile playing on his lips but his eyes focused on every movement of Charles.

“The evil Shah makes the young prince convince the fortune teller that he does not love him,” he narrated, while Beaubier grinned at the turn of events and Erik shares a knowing glance with Charles, an unspoken conversation happening between them.

“Thank you for curing me of my ridiculous obsession with love,” he growls with a feigned accent, leaping to the window and turning to smile at Erik, “says the penniless fortune teller, throwing his tarot cards at his feet and leaving the kingdom forever!”

He turned animatedly, nearly throwing himself out the window to his demise. Both Erik and Beaubier move to catch him, his hand stretched out and latching onto every bit of metal on Charles’ person. After a moment of precarious balancing, Charles managed to right himself and turn back towards his captive audience as a deep laugh rumbled from his chest.

“Oh, but a life without love, that’s terrible,” Erik joked, smirking at Charles as he made his way back into the sitting room. Charles’ laughter was infectious, and Erik couldn’t help the small chuckle that crept out when Charles gave him a sly look.

“Yes, but the fortune teller, and his magical tarot cards return,” he begins to recite, settling onto the couch in Erik’s lap, his forehead against Erik’s as he began to speak only to his mind. Beaubier became flustered, trying to interject with the line he had been practicing but could never quite grasp.

“Charles, wait! Charles, that’s my line,” he struggled weakly, his pleas falling on deaf ears. Grabbing the platter he had been fixing for dinner, he tottered his way over to the couch and set it along the back, interrupting the silent conversation.

“And that’s when I say, the tarot cards say—”

The greatest thing you’ll ever learn, is just to love, and be loved in return, Charles turned his attention back to Erik. They were once again oblivious to Beaubier, who had gotten entirely used to this treatment whenever they were even remotely near each other.

All Charles could focus on were the fingers settled comfortably at his hips, and the warm embrace Erik’s mind offered him whenever he nudged it with his own.

\---

Everyone was busy rehearsing their various song and dance routines while the construction of the theater took place all around them. Everything was covered in tarps, and all the dancers were in naught but their bloomers since none of the costumes were ready for practice. Charles and Erik had commandeered Erik’s new dressing room as a private rehearsal area, though as to how much they were actually rehearsing could be up for debate.

They had been busy losing each other in a long deep kiss when Charles’ mind perked up, sensing the Duke’s nearing presence. Not a moment too soon, they split apart, papers at hand and looking for all the world as though they had been practicing lines. The Duke seemed oblivious to Charles’ reddened lips, or their hair being in various states of dishevelment.

“A picnic, my dear man?” he asked, holding a basket and blanket in hand with a grotesque smile across his face. Charles’ skin crawled at the sight of it, but Erik merely smiled apologetically and motioned at his script.

“Oh but we have so much to do, so much work,” he explained, still breathless from the kiss.

“Well, if the young writer can carry a basket and a blanket, I don’t see why you two both can’t do it in my presence,” the Duke continued, dumping the picnic items into Charles’ arms and remaining completely oblivious to anything. Not that Charles’ was doing much nudging, just helping the Duke’s naiveté along.

\---

Beaubier was still struggling with his line, with the line, the one that Charles believed in with all his heart. Downstairs they could hear the band struggling with the new music, piecing it together measure by measure while Charles’ slowly led Beaubier through the scene once more.

“The greatest thing you’ll ever—”

The dressing room was almost too perfect. Charles and Erik were afforded a privacy they could find nowhere else. A place where they could exchange touches, kisses, with Charles’ mind always a wary guard. Their papers were steadily growing more and more ruined, between the crumpling and accidental tearing when they had to throw themselves apart at the first sign of someone approaching.

“Still at it, my boy?” this time the Duke seemed to want a day on the river.

Charles just grinned at his own paper while Erik inwardly groaned, his face smiling in exasperation while he smoothly told another excuse to keep them busy.

“—master—”

The acrobats were training vigorously, the stage beginning to look like a proper theater for real acting.

“—make—”

The orchestra was coming together, though strangely enough Charles was convinced he was seeing double every time he passed them, they were all beginning to look the same to him.

“—contract—”

“Oh my dear sweet Duke,” Erik let it slide off his tongue, having practiced his lies almost as often as he had practiced his lines, “So many lines to learn, we’ve been drilling them over and over.”

The Duke’s grin seemed strained, adding to his already uncomfortable demeanor and presence. 

It was almost too easy for Charles to come up with reasons for him and Erik to meet, right under the Duke’s very nose. He found Erik watching the rehearsals, seated next to the Duke but his mind was clearly somewhere else. Charles brushed his mind against Erik’s, alerting him to his presence. Turning, Erik smiled when he saw Charles standing there, but quickly dropped it when Duke turned his head to face him.

“Excuse me, Erik, but I haven’t quite finished writing that new scene, the um, ‘will the lover’s be meeting at the sitar player’s humble abode’ scene and I wondered if I could work on it with you later tonight?” Charles knelt down between their chairs, asking in a hushed tone if he could see Erik that night. The Duke turned at the voice, and his eyes grew wide at the question.

“But, my dear, I’ve arranged a magnificent supper for us in the Gothic Tower,” he said hurriedly, desperate for even a few moments in private with Erik. Charles and Erik had been careful to give him none, forcing him to always be in public with Erik and preventing his hands from roving too far.

“It’s not that important, we-we could work on it tomorrow,” Charles suggested, defeated.

“How dare you?” Erik interjected, acting appalled at the thought. Though he and Charles were already making plans in silence where no one could overhear them.

“It cannot wait until tomorrow. The ‘lover’s meeting in the sitar player’s humble abode’ scene is the most important in the production. We will work on it tonight until I am completely satisfied,” Erik said with a resounding finality, and Charles gave him a small smile.

“B-b-but my dear,” the Duke rose, trying to salvage his evening plans.

“Dear Duke, excuse me,” Erik raised a finger to silence him, and turned to walk away, seemingly under the pretense to go somewhere important. Charles merely nodded to the Duke, apologizing, before turning to walk in the opposite direction, apparently off to write some more of the play.

But they found themselves in the same balcony, up above where anyone could see them. They shared a fevered kiss, the Duke having kept Erik close by all day and preventing them from meeting. Charles could feel fingers clenching into his hair, and pushed his hands against Erik’s hips, pressing him against the column.

“Stryker,” the Duke began, finding him once he had finished giving instructions for the morning’s rehearsal.

“My dear Duke, is everything prepared for that special supper in the Gothic Tower tonight?” he asked jovially.

“Well, yes, but you might as well eat it yourself, Stryker. His affections are waning—”

“Impossible!”

“I understand how important his work is to him, but he’s always at it with that damn writer!” the Duke spat out, startling Stryker.

They were still up in the balcony, laughing softly into the kiss, craving the touch they had been denied for most of the day. Oblivious to what was taking place down below and who could see them, they became careless in how hidden they were from prying eyes.

“I don’t see him tonight, I’m very well leaving!” he hissed, before catching a flick of Stryker’s eyes. He made to turn around before being caught by Stryker.

“No dear Duke! I’ll insist Erik takes that night off,” he soothed, keeping the Duke’s focus on him. The Duke seemed pleased with this development, and breathed deep to calm his frustrations.

“All right, all right. 8 o’clock then,” he smiled, and headed for the doors of the theater. Stryker threw another glance up to what had caught his eye, to Erik and the damned writer hiding in the curtains of the upper balconies, and felt the pit of his stomach drop. It was a dangerous game to be playing, and they didn’t know who they were playing against.

“So you’ll be there? Tonight?” Charles whispered, preparing to head back down to the rest of the crew while Erik looked out over the hall.

“Yes,” Erik breathed, smiling when he turned to give Charles one last kiss.

Charles stood on tiptoe while Erik bowed his head to receive a kiss on his forehead in parting, chuckling as they snuck further along the balcony to go their separate ways. Charles jogged down the hall before he turned and frantically asked, “What time?”

“8 o’clock,” Erik assured him with a grin, his eyes glittering in the half-lit gloom.

“Promise?”

“Yes, now go.”

Erik was still chuckling along the balcony when he stopped, Stryker standing in front of him with a frightened look upon his face.

“Are you mad?” Stryker asked, freezing Erik’s blood.

“The Duke holds the deeds to the Moulin Rouge. He’s spending a fortune on you, he’s given you a beautiful new dressing room, he wants to make you a star. And you’re dallying with the writer?!”

Erik waved his hand nonchalantly, trying to convince Stryker otherwise, “Wiliam, don’t be ridiculous—”

“I saw you together!” Stryker raised his voice, anger contorting his face. Erik backed away, struggling to make everything right, to lie as easily as he did to the Duke on countless occasions.

“It’s nothing,” he murmured, “It’s just an infatuation. It’s…it’s nothing.” Erik looked out over the balcony, not wanting to meet Stryker’s gaze.

“The infatuation will end. Go to the boy, tell him it’s over. The Duke is expecting you in the tower at 8.”

Stryker turned to leave, Erik standing there while he struggled to understand what was going on in his heart. He knew what he owed to the Moulin Rouge, to the Duke, but he couldn’t just abandon Charles so easily. What was he supposed to do, just tell Charles goodbye and hope that his heart didn’t shatter from the pain?

He walked slowly along the balcony, trying to figure out how he could make both of them happy, to make everything work smoothly.

“Why live life, from dream to dream……” he mumbled, his steps heavy as he neared his room, “…and dread the day, when dreaming ends…”

And then the pain in his chest grew tight and sharp, more real than he had ever anticipated a broken heart to feel. His breath became ragged, and he struggled to swallow even the smallest gasps of air. In a moment he could feel himself falling, feel the floor beneath him as his vision blacked out, and his last conscious thought strayed to Charles waiting for him all night.

For a force darker than jealousy, and stronger than love, had begun to take hold of Erik.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay, dear readers! I moved into my first apartment this weekend and the wifi guy hasn't shown up yet! But thank goodness for the university's internet connection, I can now post and I hope to never delay this long again. :)


	7. Like a Virgin

Charles paced in his room, watching out the window anxiously for any sign of Erik coming that night. It was already late, later than Erik had promised, and Charles began to worry. He reached out with his mind, but it couldn’t reach far, and he could feel no sign of Erik anywhere. Defeated, he resigned himself to wait by the window until he could wait no longer.

Stryker watched the tower impatiently through his all-seeing telescope. The Duke paced nervously, clearly becoming fed up with the waiting. All Stryker could do is wonder helplessly where Erik was, who unbeknownst to him was shaking several floors below where Hank and Marie did their best to make him well. He was covered in a thin sheen of sweat and Marie glanced at Hank with concern.

“Will he be able to be up tonight?”

Hank shook his head as he finished giving what little medicine he could to make Erik comfortable. “Morning, at the earliest. Someone has to go tell Stryker.”

But soon the Duke was closing the windows to the tower, and extinguishing the candles. He was leaving, possibly for good, having grown tired of waiting constantly for Erik’s attention. With Erik indisposed, Stryker did the one thing he did best: he lied.

“He’s confessing!!!” Stryker cried as he ran up to the Gothic Tower to try and stop the Duke from leaving just yet.

“Confessing? What kind of imbecile do you take me for, Stryker?” the Duke hissed in the half dark, his patience thin by now with every roadblock that had presented itself over the course of the production.

“He suddenly had a terrible desire to go to a priest, and confess his sins,” Stryker simpered, as though it were the most obvious reason as to why Erik was not there.

“What?!?”

“He wanted to be cleansed of his former life. He looks upon this as a grand night. Says you make him feel…” Stryker glanced around for the right word, his face inches from the Duke’s now, before he finally chose one and whispered it, as though he wasn’t used to it in his line of work.

“Like a virgin.”

“Virgin?” the Duke muttered, clearly intrigued by this prospect.

“You know, touched for the very first time. He says he feels so good inside, when you touch him, and hold him.” They began to pace the floors, Stryker’s voice low as his words began to twist around the Duke’s ego and placate him. Clearly he had gotten past the initial resistance to the lie. Now it was time to sell it.

“He made it through the wilderness, somehow, he made it through. He didn’t know how lost he was until he found you.”

The Duke paused, sensing a change in the direction of the conversation. Stryker continued, hoping to assuage the Duke’s misgivings as he wound an absurd tale.

“He was beat, incomplete. He’d been had, he was sad … but you made him feel, yes you made him feel, shiny, and new….”

Suddenly the rest of the servants in the tower began to circle in closer, listening intently to the conversation.

“Like a virgin!” Stryker cried out, startling the Duke.

The rest of the night was spent convincing the Duke that his effect on Erik was far grander than it could ever be. That he had stirred something deep within Erik, that Erik could see their relationship as some sort of permanent state, that Erik wanted to be completely cleansed to prepare for his future life with the Duke.

None of it was true, but if the Duke believed it, Stryker’s brilliant lies had once again averted disaster.

But no one went to Charles to comfort him while he waited. No one to tell him soothing lies, or even the truth of where Erik was. Nothing to keep him placated but his ever growing worry and overactive imagination running in wild circles. He waited for what felt the entire night, staring out into the cold Parisian air as he watched for any sign of his love coming to him from the Moulin Rouge.

\---

Stryker returned to find the doctor and Marie waiting for him by Erik’s bedside. Hank looked as though he had terrible news to give, and Stryker didn’t want to be the one to hear it.

“Erik is dying. He has the consumption,” Hank muttered, looking down to his feet. Marie only sat there in silence, as though she had suspected it ever since that first night Erik had collapsed.

Stryker stared past the two of them to Erik lying in bed, stripped of his shirt and sweating, fitful in his sleep. He didn’t seem conscious of anything around him, and looked so helpless. It was strange. Stryker knew Erik could tear the building to pieces if he wanted, could melt the Eiffel Tower into a puddle. But he was powerless against the disease that had him trapped.

“Our little prince is dying,” he murmured, not quite believing it himself. Marie crossed herself, from her silver streak of hair to her heart and side to side, as though that were all she needed to ward off the darkness that had descended upon the Moulin Rouge.

“He mustn’t know, Marie. The show must go on.”

And so not a word was to be breathed to anyone, and Erik slept the night away restlessly.

\---

Charles had waited all night.

He was busy at his typewriter, finishing the latest scene in their grand story, while Erik stared listlessly out the window from the bed. Charles’ fingers slowed at the keys until he had stopped typing altogether. Erik’s mind had been strangely quiet and distant all morning, and for the first time Charles could feel a terrible sense of jealousy start to emerge.

“Where were you last night?” he asked, voice quavering slightly. Erik coughed lightly, still fighting off the effect of last night. At the question, he turned his head to meet Charles’ gaze for the first time that afternoon. Something in his eyes chilled Charles’ heart, and he hoped Erik would be honest with him.

“I told you, I was sick,” Erik gave a weak smile, looking away again. Charles glanced at the desk, trying to feel the honesty in Erik’s mind. But Erik remained resolutely shut, trying to not worry Charles with how sick he had been last night. 

Charles stood suddenly and headed to the bed, kneeling onto the mattress and reaching out for Erik’s hand. Erik tried to avoid meeting his eyes, and pulled back slightly at his touch.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” Charles murmured, hurt by Erik’s withdrawal.

Erik moved to the edge of the bed, trying to not let anything show.

“We have to end it.”

Charles could barely hear the whispered sentence. But he registered it quickly, and couldn’t believe his ears.

“Everyone knows. William knows….sooner or later the Duke will find out too.” 

Charles stared at Erik’s hunched shoulders, heart slowly breaking. This couldn’t be the end, they had endured so much already, why end it now. Everything in Charles was screaming internally, his mind fighting with itself. He wanted to force his way into Erik’s mind, to see the truth, to feel Erik’s pain and make Erik understand how much he was hurting Charles. But he knew if he did, Erik could never trust him again. So he waited patiently, mind pacing just beyond Erik’s walls, waiting, hoping he’d be let in soon.

“On opening night, I have to sleep with the Duke.”

Erik turned, only to be met by Charles’ back, refusing to look at him.

“And the jealousy would drive you mad,” Erik sighed, rising to go stand at the open window, to catch a breeze and put a distance between him and Charles. He could feel it, Charles’ mind, pressing in on him but never forcing. His heartbreak alone was enough, and he didn’t need to feel Charles’ as well.

Charles threw down the papers he had been holding, and stormed out to the balcony. He wanted to scream, wanted to throw his mind out into the sky and never let it return because his heart was too painful. But in a moment of clarity he raced around the balcony to the window Erik was standing in.

“Then I’ll write a song, and we’ll put it in the show, and no matter how bad things get, no matter what happens, whenever you hear it or you sing it or whistle it or hum it, then you’ll know what it means. It’ll mean we love one another, I won’t get jealous,” he babbled, ignoring Erik’s repeated attempts to stop him, pressing kisses to Erik’s forehead while Erik could only stand there, trying to not get his hopes up.

“Hearts don’t work that way, Charles,” he breathed, pulling away from the kisses, “We have to end it.”

Erik walked away, across the small flat, while Charles could only stare at him. Whenever he turned around, Charles looked into his eyes, pleading with him to stop this foolishness. But he would only ever turn away, not able to stand Charles’ eyes for long.

“~Never knew, I could feel like this,~” Charles started, barely audible, but Erik listened to every word. 

“~Like I’ve never seen the sky before.~”

\---  
They introduce the song to the show. 

“This new scene, it’s where the gypsy writes a secret song for the Prince, so that whatever is happening, however bad things are, they-they remember their love and we can, um…” Charles drops into stage directing, sneaking glances at Erik as they rehearse it.

“We must be careful,” Erik acts, clasping hands with Marko on stage.

“Fear not, for we will conduct a love affair right under the Shah’s—” Marko’s eyes lose focus as he falls to the stage.

“~Seasons may change~,” Charles smiles, taking up the song where Marko dropped it, to sing with Erik their song, “~Winter to spring.~”

“Honestly, amigo, this is impossible!” Stryker cries when Marko passes out.

“But I love you,” Charles slips in, under his breath.

“~Until the end of time.~”

\---

“~Come what may,~” he sings out into the evening, holding Erik around the waist from behind. They stand on the balcony together, looking at the sunset over the village, and Charles can feel Erik’s mind humming with warmth against his. Any misgivings from before are gone, and he smiles as Erik turns to face him.

“~Come what may,~” Charles presses his forehead to Erik’s, their noses brushing gently and their hands slowly twining together.

“~I will love you, until my dying day.~”

\---

Charles holds the basket in his arms as they walk up the path behind the Duke, though his eyes never leave Erik’s.

“~Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place,~” they sing quietly, under the pretense of rehearsing. But they step apart quickly when the Duke turns to face them, “Look, a little frog!”

Charles nudes gently into Erik’s mind, wrapping around it contentedly like a warm blanket. Words are murmured between them, unheard to any nearby, while the Duke is preoccupied. 

\---

“~Suddenly my life doesn’t seem, such a waste,~” they sing, Charles from the orchestra pit and Erik from the stage. Erik’s eyes are on Marko in front of him, but his attention is solely on Charles.

“~And there’s no mountain too high, no river too wide.”

They sit on the balcony, nothing but a sheet protecting them from the elements outside, sitting in each other’s arms and soaking in the sunlight, enjoying the warmth together.

“~Sing out this song and I’ll be there by your side.~”

Erik listens from the bed, exposed but for the sheet thrown across his hips as he listens to Charles read out from his small book. They smile, as enraptured by each other as they were the night they first met. Erik’s mind calls out to his, and they slide together comfortably, naturally. Charles’ mind knows every groove, and facet, and fits to it perfectly, intimately.

“~Storm clouds may gather, and stars may collide.~”

“But I love you,” Charles murmurs next to the piano.

“I love you,” Erik echoes back, Charles’ eyes catching him off guard every time he meets them.

“~Until the end of time,~” they smile, before Erik shifts his gaze back to Marko, and Charles back to his papers.

“~Come what may……come what may. I will love you,” they taper off slowly, the piano gently leading them into silence. Another smile is shared, before Stryker ends the rehearsal, and everyone disperses for the day. Backstage, Erik’s chest hurts as he struggles for air, as he does every night after they finish. But he never lets Charles know, never lets Charles see the pain. By the time he joins Charles for the evening, he has put on his smile again.

But no smile, or lie, could save them from what was coming.


End file.
